The Challenges We're Facing
by Not Just Your Average Fangirl
Summary: Alex Hamilton has been lost in the foster care system for years. One fateful night, an accident leaves him unconscious on the front porch of Senator George Washington. Alex recovers physically. He's good at that. But in order to recover mentally, he's going to need a helping hand from his new adopted brother Lafayette and his friends. Will Alex ever be able to trust anyone again?
1. Ambulance

Alexander Hamilton's POV:

I shivered in the rain as I wandered slowly through the cold city streets. I couldn't remember where I was, nor did I know how or why I'd ended up here. All I knew was that I needed to find shelter. For the first time in a long while I longed to be back on the island, where I knew people and there was always a door to knock on where a friend would offer you a night's stay. But I had no friends anymore. I had no one. There was no one left from the island but me. No one cared. All of them were gone. Dead.

The wind picked up. Thunder crashed and lightning split the sky. I doubled over. My head was spinning. My knees went weak. My ears rang with the echoes of the screams. Some small part of me knew that this was only a storm, but the rest of me was locked in a losing battle against memory, trapped inside the lingering memories of another storm entirely. I laughed hysterically, the pain taking over. I no longer had any control over myself. I tilted my face to the sky, opened my mouth wide to scream, and then the world went black.

Martha Washington's POV:

I awoke, startled. A crash broke the night. I then realized that it was only lightning. I had just rolled over to go back to sleep when I heard a much smaller crash, this one right at our doorstep. Quietly, as to not wake George, I climbed out of bed and slipped downstairs. I tiptoed through the hallway to the front door, cautiously opened it, and screamed, " GEORGE!"

A young man of about thirteen or fourteen was collapsed across our doorstep. He was the skinniest boy I'd ever seen. He had dark curly hair and an olive complexion. He could've been mistaken for a homeless teenager taking shelter under our awning, except for the fact that there was a large gash down the side of his head where it must have hit the steps. Blood covered our stairs. I squatted down beside the boy and tried to take his pulse, but my hands were shaking. I screamed for George again.

"Martha! What is it?" He came rushing out, still in his pajamas. He took one look at the boy. "Oh my God. Martha, call an ambulance. We need to get him to the hospital. NOW."

I nodded. "Should I tell Laf we're leaving?"

He shook his head, leaning down to check the boy for a heartbeat. "He'll text us if we're not back when he wakes up. Just call the ambulance."

I hurried inside. I picked up the phone and dialed 911, my fingers trembling. I heard a woman's voice on the other end. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, my name is Martha Washington- Senator George Washington's wife- and there is a teenage boy lying unconscious on our front steps. He appears to have suffered a serious head injury. I have no idea who he is or what happened, but I need an ambulance as soon as possible."

"Yes, I will send an ambulance immediately. What's your address?"

I told her our address and hung up. George came in. "What did they say?"

"An ambulance will be here in a few minutes," I told him. My voice was weak. His brow furrowed momentarily before he pulled me into a hug.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. I have some good news."

"What is it?" I said. I could really use some good news.

He held up a worn black wallet. "I found this in his pocket. His ID was in it. Apparently his name is Alexander Hamilton. He's sixteen."

"Sixteen?" I said, shocked. "He doesn't look a day over fourteen."

George sighed. "Well, I'm no doctor, but it looks to me like he's suffering from malnutrition. I'm going to have one of my guys do a thorough investigation once he wakes up and we can get some more information."

I sighed. "We should get back out there." He nodded, and I quietly followed him outside before sitting on the steps beside Alexander. It was oddly relieving, knowing his name and age. Like he had gone from being a half-dead teenager to a real person who we could help. Gently, I brushed his hair off his face. He had soft childish features, marred by the bleeding gash that ran down the side of his head. He really did look younger than sixteen.

Flashing lights appeared around the corner, tearing my attention away from Alexander. The ambulance pulled up outside of our house. Three men came out, two of them carrying a stretcher, which they used to transport the boy into the vehicle. The third man came up to us.

"Thank you, Senator and Mrs. Washington, for contacting us so quickly. We'll take it from here."

He turned and started to walk away, but George caught up with him, motioning for me to follow. "No, we're coming with him."

"But sir- the protocol- only family-" he began, but he stopped after one icy stare from George. "Yes, sir. If you follow in your car, I'll make sure that you can visit the boy in the hospital."

George started to speak, but his time I cut him off. "His name is Alexander, and we're staying with him." The man looked to George, who nodded firmly.

"Very well." We got into the ambulance. Alexander looked so weak and pale. I shivered, wondering where his family was and how he had ended up passed out and bleeding on our front porch. George squeezed my hand reassuringly. I took a deep breath. We would just have to wait until he woke up.


	2. Call Me Alex

Alex's POV:

Beeping. That was all I could hear. I tried to sit up to tell Peter to turn off his alarm clock, but a searing pain shot through me. I groaned. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and yelped in surprise. A young freckled nurse stood over me. I shook my head groggily to clear my thoughts, but that only sent another wave of pain through me.

"Where am I?" I muttered.

The nurse smiled. "You're in the hospital. I'm afraid you suffered quite the head injury last night. Now, your parents have been quite eager to see you. I'll give you a minute."

"Parents? What-" I started to say, but she was gone. A tall man strode in, a woman following behind him with a worried expression.

"Alexander," the woman said softly, smiling. There were tears in her eyes. "You're awake."

"Just barely," I muttered, squinting up at them. There was something distinctly familiar about the man, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. And then it hit me.

"You're Senator Washington!" I blurted. I shot up, ignoring the pain. "Your work on the copyright issues was truly inspiring. It's an honor to meet you- sir-" He held out his hand, looking astonished, and I shook it firmly. Then he rested a hand on my shoulder.

"Alexander. It's a pleasure to officially meet you," he said, with a warm smile.

"But- sir- I'm sorry, I don't quite understand- why are you here? And, more importantly, why am _I_ here?" I said, confused.

He smiled sadly. "Well, Alexander, I'm not entirely sure of the whole story myself. All I can tell you is that at about two a.m. this morning my wife found you passed out on our front steps with a considerable head wound. We found your wallet in your back pocket." A jolt of fear ran through me- _did they steal anything?-_ before I remembered that he was a senator, after all. He must have noted the worry in my expression, however, because he smiled and handed it back to me. "All safe and sound, don't worry. But we did take a look at your ID card- yes, it's in there too, I promise we're not thieves- and I'm awfully glad we did; the hospital wouldn't have admitted you without it."

I shuddered. This was an awful lot to take in at once. "When do I go home?"

Senator Washington shared a capital-L Look with his wife, before replying, "Alexander. We know you're in the foster care system. We also know you've been in it for a while now, and you've never been in one home for more than a week. We know you've ran away from every place you've ever been. And we know about the hurricane." My shock must have shown, because he sighed. "Son, don't you think I have people who can conduct that sort of investigation at my beck and call?"

"I'm not your son," I snapped. He looked hurt. Well, I wasn't his son, anyways. He didn't have to be so upset about it. It was just a fact.

"I know," he said, sighing. "But I was wondering if you might want- if you're okay with- if you would- come live with us?"

"George!" said his wife, looking shocked.

"Martha," he replied, giving her another Look before turning back to me. "So?"

I pondered it for a moment, but some part of me had already made up my mind. "I guess I'd be willing to, Senator Washington," I said, trying not to sound too eager.

His face lit up as he broke into a grin. "Call me George," he said, shaking my hand again. "I'll go tell the nurse you're leaving with us, Alexander."

He turned to leave. I'm not sure what made me say it, but I spoke up. "Call me Alex."


	3. Repeat After Me

**Author's Note: Hey guys! I know there were some bugs with this chapter originally. Right as I was posting it, the internet went out, and it just came back on. It going out as I posted the chapter caused the glitch. The internet is still spotty, so I may not be able to post very often for a while :( sorry! To everyone who is still sticking with the story even after the glitch, I am eternally grateful for your commitment and support- it means the world to me! If there are any more glitches, please let me know in a review and I will fix the problem as soon as possible. But enough talking- let's get back to the story!**

Alex's POV:

Two days later, I was sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed out of the hospital by Senator George freaking Washington, who I was going to live with. It was like I was living in a dream. Then the bright sunlight hit me, and I winced. Nope. Not a dream. Just another form of aggravating my sunburns. But the sunlight wasn't the worst part.

Cameras flashed from every direction. Voices accompanied them.

"Senator Washington!"

"Is it true you're adopting another boy?"

"Hey, that's him!"

"That's the kid!"

"Where's he from?"

"What landed him in the hospital?"

But the flashing lights became the beacon that signaled the Category 5 rating. The voices morphed into screams and cries for help. I slammed my eyes shut, shoving my hands over my ears and clamping them down as tightly as I could. A single tear slipped down my cheek. I started to shake. Senator Washington- George- put a hand on my shoulder. "Alex. Alex, listen to me. Focus on my voice. Don't open your eyes. Just repeat after me: My name is Alexander Hamilton."

"My name is Alexander Hamilton," I repeated dumbly.

"I am sixteen years old."

"I am sixteen years old."

"I am in New York City."

"I am in New York City."

"I am going to live with Senator George Washington."

"I am going to live with Senator George Washington."

"I am alive."

"I am alive."

"I am safe."

"I am safe."

"That should do it."

"That shou- oh, we're done. Okay. Thank you."

"Of course. You can open your eyes now. We're at the car."

I opened my eyes, expecting to see a nice car. What I saw went beyond the boundaries of "nice". It was a limo. I blinked repeatedly, trying to make sure it was real.

George smiled. "Come on, Alex. Let's get you home."

*THIRTY MINUTES LATER*

George wheeled me up to their front steps. I could still see traces of my blood from the night of the accident. I tried to stand up, knowing there was no way they could wheel the chair up the stairs, but George stopped me. Before I knew what had happened, he had picked me up and was carrying me like a baby. I felt a little embarrassed, and nervous that I was too much trouble, but at the same time I knew that there was no way I could've walked up the steps without passing out again.

He carried me through the front door and set me down so I could use his arm as a support. Someone sat up on the couch and turned around. It was a boy about my age, with dark skin and a vaguely confused expression. "Who's he?" the boy said. He spoke with a French accent.

"Laf, this is Alexander Hamilton," said George. "He's going to move in with us."

The boy smiled, getting up from the couch and walking over to shake my hand. "Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette," he said. "But just Laf is fine. It's nice to meet you, Alexander."

"Just Alex," I said, grinning. "Your name sure is a mouthful, huh?"

"Tell me about it," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The worst of all is when substitute teachers take attendance."

I winced sympathetically. Martha smiled. "I'm glad you two can manage to get along, because, Alex, Laf is our adopted son." I grinned despite myself. If I had to have a brother, at least it was someone I could get along with. "Laf, why don't you help Alex to his room? He'll be staying in the first floor guest bedroom, at least until he's healed enough to handle stairs."

"Okay, mom," he said. He held out his arm to me and supported me as I slowly made my way down the hall. Every step was agony. I tried not to show it, but he must have sensed my pain, because he slowed down. "Hey, take it easy, man," he said, looking concerned. "You don't need to pretend like it doesn't hurt. I've been in plenty of similar positions myself. Hurts like the blazes of hell, doesn't it?"

I nodded grimly. We turned the corner into a mint green bedroom. Mint green. How did they- no, they couldn't have known. I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from the ten-foot trek.

Laf smiled gently. "You know, I've got, like, two friends. They're over here all the time. I think you'll like them."

"What makes you say that?"

He grinned. "They're gay. Well, actually, John's gay. I'm not sure what Herc is. I don't think even he's sure what he is."

I sat up. "What did you say their names were?"

"John Laurens and Hercules Mulligan," he said, his eyes dancing.

"When can I meet them?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Looks like I judged you right. I've gotten pretty good at reading people."

I grinned crookedly. "I've gotten pretty good at reading the inside of other people's wallets."

He snickered. "Yeah, you're gonna hit it off with John and Herc right away."


	4. Lejos de eso

**Author's Note: Warning- minor descriptions of violence. (And yes, I know there are some major historical inaccuracies- sorry not sorry :) also, just to be clear, i am using the ever-unpredictable Google Translate for translations, sorry for any inaccuracies there. If you want me to start posting the translations in English at the end of each chapter, please let me know :) thanks!)**

Alex's POV:

I woke up in a daze. Squinting through the heavy layers of sleep crusted in the corners of my eyes, I saw mint green. I stopped, confused. My old room on the island? But that was impossible. I remembered a storm- running- the screams-

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I'd left the island behind a long time ago. This was my new bedroom in Senator George Washington's house, and I- oh shit. I'd overslept. I had to go make breakfast. I bolted up. I saw a set of clothes laid out on the foot of the bed. Were they meant for me? They had to be. I slipped out of my old clothes and slid on the new ones, noticing how baggy they were. But it wasn't until I went into the bathroom to get my medications that I realized the full effect. I stood in front of the mirror, shocked. My skin was pale and caked with dirt. My cheekbones were hollow, and a visible scar ran down the side of my head. My hair was wild and tangled. The clothes dwarfed me. Quickly, locking the door behind me so that no one could walk in and yell at me for using their things, I scrubbed my face until all traces of dirt had disappeared, brushed my teeth, combed my hair out, and put it into a ponytail. There was nothing I could do about my obvious scrawniness. I reached for the bottle of pills and took my prescribed amount, but as I tried to screw on the lid I accidentally knocked it over into the sink. Every last pill slipped down the drain. I stared in horror at the empty bottle as unsolicited memories began to resurface.

 _"Idiot boy. Lost your medications, did you? Well, let me show you something. This is what happens to ignorant little whore's-son bastard orphans who don't do what they're told." I heard the whip before I felt it, sharp pains shooting through my spine, re-opening old wounds. It broke the skin. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn't make a sound. He hit me harder if I cried. I felt blood streaming down my back as the sharp pain slowed to a dull throb, the way it always did after about ten lashes. I didn't dare tell him that I had seen him selling my medications on the street that very morning. If he knew I'd left the house, he'd kill me._

I gasped. My eyes flew open. I straightened up. Nobody could know that I'd spilled them. If the Washingtons found out, they'd never pay to replace them. I'd be out of the house in a heartbeat. I could survive without the pills. I'd have to.

I stood in front of the stove, flipping pancakes and shifting bacon in the pan. Laf stumbled in sleepily, still in his pajamas.

"Alex, _mon ami,_ what is that amazing smell? What could you possibly be cooking this early in the- _cher dieu Alex, sont ces crepes et bacon?"_

I grinned. "You know they are."

He stared at me. _"Mon dieu! Tu parle francais?"_

 _"Oui, vous feriez mieux de regarder ce que vous dites autour de moi."_

He laughed. "Maybe you can translate for Laurens sometime. He doesn't speak a word of French."

"Do you speak any other languages?" I said with genuine interest.

"Spanish. I know, pretty unexpected. I took courses in it all through elementary school. It was in a different town. I was living with my... first foster father. On a island in the Carribean. " His eyes had gone dark with hatred.

I turned to him, hardly daring to ask. "What island?"

"St. Croix."

"What was his name?"

"Peter. Peter Lytton."

I heard his words, but the meaning didn't register. My mind flooded with memories. The whip. The blood. The screams. The horrified look on James' face that fateful night when we came home to find his body swinging lifeless in the doorway, suspended from the neck by a rope. But most of all, a memory long forgotten. The way he'd always muttered about the evil foster child he'd had before us. Lafayette.

"You?" I whispered hollowly. "You were the one before us?"

He looked at me strangely. "He mentioned me?"

I nodded.

"I'm guessing it wasn't exactly in _une lumiere positive, hein?"_

 _"Lejos de eso, me temo,"_ I said, smiling sadly. _"Lejos de eso."_


End file.
